Forbidden Love (16 page)

“Megan?” he murmured huskily after a moment, unable to stand her silence any longer. If she hated him, he had to know it.

“Ummm?” That sleepy murmur told him nothing.

“Are you all right?”

“Ummm.”

Justin’s jaw clenched. Anything, even tears or abuse, was better than not knowing.

“Do you still love me?” There was a curious catch in his voice, and the last two words—words he never thought he would find himself asking—were whispered. Megan heard the strangled sound of his words, and opened her eyes to look at him. She was puzzled. How could he possibly doubt it, after… ?

“Insanely,” she whispered, pressing a soft little kiss into the hard skin of his shoulder. She felt his tense muscles slowly relax against her, and heard his breath expel in what sounded like a sigh.

“Justin,” she said after a moment, still curled contentedly against his side. He murmured something she didn’t catch.

“I was taught that turnabout is fair play.”

It took him a few seconds to recognize the phrase he had used once before, and to understand her meaning. When he did, he hesitated, then with a feeling of inevitability felt himself plunging deep into the dangerous waters he had always sworn to avoid.

“I love you,” he murmured, glad of the darkness so that she could not see his face.

“That didn’t hurt, now, did it?”

He smiled at the smugness in her voice.

“No,” he admitted.

“I told you.” She sounded like a very satisfied little cat who has discovered a whole pool of goldfish for its very own.

“Yes, you did.”

“Justin.”

“Hmmm?”

“Was I totally shameless?”

Justin lifted his head to look down at her. “My darling, you were marvelous—what every man dreams of finding in a woman. I adore you.”

“Do you mean that, Justin?” She sounded a little shy, still unsure of herself—and of him.

“More than I’ve ever meant anything in my life,” he assured her. Reassured, she settled back down against his shoulder, surprised to find herself yawning. Justin felt the movement against his skin, and smiled.

“Go to sleep, darling,” he teased fondly. She yawned again, snuggling deeper into his shoulder even as she protested.

“I should go back to my room,” she murmured, picturing Mrs. Donovan’s horror if she should find her tucked up in Justin’s bed in the morning.

“There’s plenty of time for that. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you in a little while.”

Megan didn’t want to let thoughts of the morrow intrude on their idyll, so she quickly banished the image of Mrs. Donovan’s scandalized face.

“All right,” she agreed sleepily, and drifted off to the sound of Justin’s heart beating steadily beneath her head.

CHAPTER
10

It was late when Megan awoke, far later than she was accustomed to. She could tell by the way the sun slanted through the green damask curtains that she had closed only part way before going to bed the night before. Sunbeams trailed across the wide-planked floor and bounced across the matching green damask of her coverlet. Watching the sun play around her feet, she smiled, stretching like a lazy kitten, her arms extending above her head. She yawned. She felt wonderful—on top of the world. Happiness radiated from her like sunrays. For a while she lay back against her pillows, smiling foolishly as her eyes took in the green and cream bedroom which suddenly seemed incredibly beautiful to her. Then, with a surge of energy, she bounded out of bed and pattered across to the windows to pull the curtains wide and admit the full glory of the September morning.

Moving, she was conscious of a faint soreness between her thighs. She blushed, remembering its cause. She laughed, then danced around the room with her
arms flung wide. Justin loved her. He had told her so, and had proved it beyond any need for words. He loved her, and she loved him. It was the most incredibly perfect thing that had ever happened to her.

Justin! She said his name out loud as she went over to the wardrobe, flinging the doors wide and looking through it for something to wear. She wanted to look beautiful this morning—for Justin.

Mrs. Donovan hadn’t awakened her, as she usually did, and Megan puzzled over this as she critically inspected the small store of dresses she had brought with her from England. There wasn’t much to choose from. She couldn’t understand why Mrs. Donovan hadn’t called her. Perhaps Justin had told the housekeeper to let her sleep, although how he would explain away his knowledge of her tiredness she couldn’t imagine. The one thing she was sure of was that Justin would do anything to keep their love a secret. He was far more concerned about her reputation than she was herself.

Megan hated to wear another of the childish white dresses, but they were all she had left. What she had would have to do. She knew that they were woefully lacking in style, and made her look like a schoolgirl, but Justin had seen her in them before and appeared to find them pleasing. A secret smile curved her mouth as she whirled away from the wardrobe, dress in her hand. Yes, Justin found her—very pleasing. He had made her a woman, his woman, and she would have liked to look like a woman this morning. But from
the passionate way he had made love to her, not once but twice more before he let her leave him, she thought that she could come downstairs in a blanket and he would find her beautiful.

She hummed as she washed herself with water from the basin by the window, stripping off the nightdress which she had donned after returning to her room the night before, and proceeding to sponge herself off from head to toe. Bold reminders of Justin marked her body: A curling black chest hair adhered to the creamy skin of her breast, faint purplish marks from his lips dotted her pale flesh indiscriminately, traces of her virginal blood smeared the inside of her thighs. He had wanted to bathe her before she left him, but the suggestion had seemed too outrageous, and she had blushingly denied him. She had washed herself before tumbling into her own bed, but she had been so tired, and washing in the dark left something to be desired… But this morning she scrubbed herself vigorously, and by the time she stepped into her undergarments, she felt as fresh as the morning.

It did not take her long to pull on the stockings and garters, the lace-trimmed muslin pantalets, the chemise and single petticoat that was all she customarily wore beneath her clothes. Custom decreed the addition of at least one more petticoat, for modesty’s sake, and a pair of stays to nip her in at the waist, but Megan had never been one to worry much about custom. Wearing multiple petticoats made her hot, and her waist was small and firm enough without any artificial
enhancement. If her teachers had known of her laxness in dress, she would have been punished, but the very fact that they had never noticed told Megan how useless such garments were.

The white dress she had chosen to wear differed from her others. Pale roses bloomed across the full muslin skirt, and the deep rose pink of the side silk sash. Megan tied the sash in a big bow in the back, leaving the ends to trail behind her. Then she slipped her stockinged feet into little rose pink slippers. She would have liked to do her hair up in a more adult style, but she was not very handy with her hairpins and it would have taken too much time to arrange it properly. So she brushed it quickly, impatiently, and caught the sides up at the top of her head with a ribbon that matched her dress. The curling mass hung down to her waist.

After she dressed, Megan spent a few seconds observing herself critically in the cheval glass, curious as to how she would look when she appeared before him. The mirror reflected a slender girl, not tall but regally erect, with masses of jet black hair, skin as white as her dress, huge slanting violet eyes under the straight black brows, and a slightly swollen lower lip that smiled as she remembered how it came to be bruised. Her nicely rounded breasts (beautiful, according to the very best authority) were covered demurely by the snug-fitting bodice which had a modest round neckline edged by a frill of lace. Her waist (also beautiful, said the same source) looked incredibly tiny clothed in a wide band
of pink silk which emphasized its smallness. Her simple round skirt flared out in a nice bell shape. Beneath the edge of the skirt, her little pink slippers were just visible.

Running her eyes over the girl in the mirror one last time, Megan made a face at her then turned away to leave the room. She was anxious to get downstairs—to see Justin. Would he kiss her at once, or would he wait until they were completely on their own?

She skipped along the upstairs hallway, then ran down the stairs, her hand sliding easily over the polished wood banister. When she was almost two-thirds of the way down, the breakfast room door opened and Justin came out. Apparently he had overslept, too, because it was long past his usual breakfast time. She smiled impishly. He looked up and saw her descending, but didn’t return her smile. Megan’s eyes twinkled as they met his, which were unusually grave. No doubt he was going to apologize again. The fact that he was her guardian seemed to cause him considerable qualms of conscience. He was dressed in a plain white shirt with black pantaloons slit up the side and pinned over the splint. The inevitable Hessian adorned his one good foot. He was leaning on the crutch, watching her as she came down the stairs, his golden eyes brooding. His mouth was set in a straight uncompromising line, and lines of strain had etched themselves from his nose to his mouth. His hair was neatly brushed for once, but deep waves were already springing back into
it to mar its smoothness. He looked very handsome, very big, and very much as if he was going to be difficult. Megan shook her head. She felt no regrets for what had happened between them, and didn’t intend to let him fret. After all, they had merely anticipated that which would be perfectly proper on their wedding night.

“Good morning,” she called, wanting to call him darling but not quite daring in the face of his stern look. He limped forward, meeting her at the foot of the stairs. She still stood two steps above him, which brought her almost to his eye level. His hand shot out to close about her waist, and she stopped on that second from the bottom step, waiting resignedly.

“I’ve got to talk to you,” he said in a low voice, tightening his hold on her. Megan did not claw him, or struggle in any way. She merely placed her hand over his, and after a moment he let her go.

“I expect a very large apology this time,” she told him softly, smiling at him, hoping to coax him out of this guilty mood. He didn’t return her smile; if anything, he looked bleaker than before, and Megan began to feel the first small pangs of uneasiness.

“Justin, what… ” she began, then stopped.

“We can’t talk here,” he said impatiently, his voice still curiously quiet. “Come into the library.”

“All right.”

Megan moved down to the bottom of the steps, feeling as if she had somehow been caught up in a bad dream. Something was very wrong, she knew. Not
all the guilt pangs in the world could account for his manner. Her heart began to pound as she followed him docilely toward the library. What on earth could have occurred to put that look in his eyes?

Justin took her wrist again and towed her after him like a barge pulling a small boat. The door to the drawing room opened. Megan looked up, surprised. Justin dropped his hold on her and moved to get between her and the door. Megan cast him a quick, questioning look, but he was looking over her head. Bewildered, growing more uneasy by the moment, Megan turned to see what he was looking at.

Framed in the drawing room door was a perfect lady of fashion. She was beautiful, from the top of her perfectly coiffed silver-blond head to the toes of her little kid half-boots, which were plainly visible beneath daringly shortened skirts. She was dressed in the very height of the current mode in an ice-blue walking dress with a little matching jacket. Several inches of lace-trimmed petticoat were artfully visible at the hem of her gown, which did not quite reach her ankles. Megan saw the cool perfection of her features, the pale, rather thin lips that were the only flaw in the lady’s beauty, the eyes that were the same color as her dress. As she gaped, wondering who on earth this vision could be and what she could possibly be doing at Maam’s Cross Court, the lady stepped out into the hall, moving languidly toward them, an amused smile curving her lips.

“La, Justin, is this your little ward? You were
right—she’s really very, very pretty. But a little ah—uncultivated, as you said. But we can soon fix that.” She directed her remarks to Justin as though Megan were not present. The lady’s manner irritated Megan. She had called Justin by his name, and seemed to be on very familiar terms with him. Megan’s eyes were cool and a little watchful as the lady halted some three feet away.

“Really, Justin, where are your manners? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your ward? She looks rather bewildered.”

Megan said nothing, but looked quickly back over her shoulder at Justin. Spots of dark red color simmered high on his harsh cheekbones, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. His golden eyes met hers for a second, and there was something very much like pain in their depths. They shifted to the strange lady.

“Alicia, as you guessed, this is my ward, Miss Megan Kinkead,” Justin said heavily, as if the words were being forced out of him. “Megan, this is Lady Alicia Brant, Countess of Weston—and my wife.”

The words took a few seconds to penetrate Megan’s protesting brain. At first, she simply refused to believe them. But, looking at the smug expression in the woman’s eyes, hearing Justin’s tortured voice, she knew they were true. She thought for one terrible instant that she was going to faint.

“Why, Justin, the poor child’s gone white. I do believe that she’s been nursing a schoolgirl crush on you, and I’ve quite broken her heart.”

Megan hated that coolly malicious voice and its possessor more than she had ever hated anything before in her life. Justin was married! Why had he not told her? But she couldn’t think about it now, not with that woman watching her so closely. She knew that the lady had picked up something, some hint of tension in the air, between herself and Justin. A courage she had never realized she possessed stiffened her spine and stilled the trembling of her knees. She would not make a fool of herself before this smirking creature—and Justin.